


All my sand castles spend their time collapsing.

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 09:41:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10614276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: It used to be so easy, making Sam smile!





	

**Author's Note:**

> A little vignette after the last ep...a little tension relieving silly!

It used to be second nature, making his baby bro laugh; A bed time story where the white hats always win and the black hats end up on their asses, a single piece of forbidden candy, childish desecration of the revered and worshipped impala!

That last one makes him physically shudder. An all over body pulse of disgust at the thought of marring her beautiful skin. But, her scars have saved his ass at least once, and if not for their childish antics, he may very well have died in that field in Kansas.

He watches Sam, head down, eyes fixed on his laptop screen, and he wishes he could raise just one all natural Sam Winchester grin. He wishes it more than he wishes rid of the god-for-saken mark etched into his arm and burning a hole in his soul, "Sammy, what ya doin'?"

Sam barely registers a response, "Hmmm?"

It's no good, he's going to have to take matters into his own hands. He'll be damned if he spends the last few months, if that's what he has left, watching Sam drag himself into a deep dark pit, "Sammy, look at me, what ya doin'?"

Sam still doesn't raise his head, but he does wave a dismissive hand in Dean's general direction, "Research."

Dean stands, slides across the room on surprisingly silent feet, considering he's wearing a pair of the worlds most industrial hob nail boots, "Dude, seriously, what ya doin'?"

Sam finally relinquishes eye contact with yet another useless wiki-print web page to be met with an image that will be burned into the back of his eyeballs for the rest of his life.

Dean is stood, pockets turned inside out, cock hanging out the front of his fly, dopey grin on his adorable face, "So, think I'd be able to pick up peanuts with this thing?"

Sam literally curls in on himself; long legs scrunched up to his chest, hair covering his face, mouth caught in the rictus of true belly rumbling laughter, "Is that...Is that meant to be...oh my god, an elephant impression?!"

Dean wiggles his hips, wanders slightly to the left and waits for Sam to stop guffawing before wobbling his flaccid cock in his brother's bright pink face, "Yep, what ya doin'?"

"Right now, wishing there was some way I could tell you how fucking much I love you! You nutter! Come here!"

The sound of keys clacking won't be heard in the bunker for at least tonight, and Dean is fine with that, it's a result to be proud of!


End file.
